


Wash Me in the Sea of Your Eyes

by bellamylover



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Archenemies - Freeform, Bisexual Harry, Confused boys, Fifth Year, Fluff, Harry's Stream of Thought, Hogwarts, Intentional Closet?, M/M, Mutual Pining, Oblivious Harry, Obsessing, cute af, in the closet, realistic?, reflections
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-16
Updated: 2018-09-16
Packaged: 2019-07-13 01:09:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16007129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellamylover/pseuds/bellamylover
Summary: Harry's always felt an inexplicable pull towards Draco... it's something that characterizes his years at Hogwarts. As he starts his Fifth Year, he starts to notice things about Draco, and himself, that puts a different light to what he's always felt.





	Wash Me in the Sea of Your Eyes

They stood there glaring at each other, because everything flew from Harry’s mind whenever he saw that face. Standing in the hall, postures crossed, glaring. Then Draco’s eyes flicked down to Harry’s cloak, and he looked back up, a glint in his eyes, calculating. Harry immediately went on the defensive, but Draco gave him a curious gaze. 

“You can travel with that?” Harry wasn’t sure what to make of the question, but he gave a grudging shrug at Draco, anticipating. 

At Harry’s response, Draco gave a quick smirk and said, “I have an idea then,” an intent look in his eyes. Despite himself Harry couldn’t help but be intrigued. His heart was racing in a different way now– with excitement rather than a threat. He tried to keep his excitement from showing, saying slowly, “What’s on your mind…” as Draco looked at Harry with an excited hint in his eyes. 

That was the thing about Draco, no matter what it was, he always managed to get Harry excited. His blood rushing in some way or another. Harry knew he probably couldn’t say no even if he tried. Anything, if it was with Draco, was intriguing and probably weirdly fun. Whatever Draco was doing, Harry was down to be there alongside him, whether working against him or with him. Draco was the one person Harry could depend on to be in the same vein of thought as he was, to go along with anything Harry suggested, whether it be a duel or a fight in the clouds or a race to the snitch. No one else was willing to bicker with him, or spend time with him focused on the very same thing. And sometimes that objective was– destroying one another. For all intents and purposes, Draco was Harry’s partner, and the day Harry realized it was the one day Draco was absent.

Harry had kept looking to his left across the Charms classroom to exchange glares with a certain terrible blonde only to find Draco missing. Harry was surprised to find himself strangely disappointed and yearning. When he’d walked the halls that day, he’d searched for him, only to remember that Draco wasn’t there. He was in the hospital wing for a Quidditch injury. It was mild, but it was to the head, and Madame Pomfrey never took risks when there was a head injury. When Harry tried to leave Hermione to the books in the library, escaping their study session with the usual intent of throwing the snitch and beating Malfoy to it the way they usually did Thursday afternoons when it was all getting too much, he halted, remembering that Malfoy wasn’t there. Ron went on about the new Hufflepuff he was dating while Hermione shushed him and kept studying, and Harry looked down to them both, wondering whom he actually depended on for that feeling of companionship. It wasn’t the same with Ron and Hermione. With Draco, Harry always knew he’d be there right when he was looking for him, along him, fighting and arguing and competing, always on the same page and thinking the same thing. 

His archenemy, ironically, was in some sense Harry’s greatest companion. Harry always knew where Draco was, keeping track of him like a compass, his absolute awareness of Draco something he did so easily as breathing. It was a part of him to notice. Whenever someone wondered where Draco was, Harry had an answer in his head faster and more certain than any of Draco’s friends, and Harry wondered how well they could consider themselves his friends if they didn’t even know where he was at random moments. Heck, Harry wasn’t even on good terms with Draco and even he knew where he was at all times. He could even feel it when Draco looked at him most times. He’d feel some sort of electricity in the air, and then turn to look eyes with Draco’s gaze, after which Draco would quickly look away with a scowl. Draco was the one he could count on to exchange looks with when something absolutely insane happened, or to have the same thought in his head. Harry would know exactly what he was about to say, and Draco’s eyes would flick to Harry’s as he finished speaking, a glint in his dark eyes as if he _knew_ that Harry had known, or was about to voice the same thing. They never talked about it, that weird connection they had, that strange chemistry that made Harry certain that they could have been great friends if they hadn’t become great enemies, but there was no denying that there was some certain quality that made him so very in tune with Draco without being conscious of it.

Harry couldn’t explain it, but he did know that if he were to embark on anything, Draco would always be there, probably at cross paths with him, but always on the same wavelength. Never letting him feel so entirely alone, or completely misunderstood. Draco was like… that element that was always there, dependable. A part of life. Sometimes it rankled him when Harry turned to tell a joke to a fellow fourth year and that Hufflepuff Finch Fletchley would just stare at him in silent confusion, clearly not getting the joke as it flew over his head. Harry experienced that pretty often with other folks. Most people didn’t seem to really get him, though they’d try desperately to understand how it was that this awkward, alienated boy was their Savior. Sometimes though, Draco would be nearby, and Harry’s gaze would flick over to him, as it always did when he was near, and Harry would see the glint of amusement in Draco’s eyes, sometimes even a silent and appreciative half smile, before he’d notice Harry looking and quickly change his expression, turning back to his work immediately. Harry knew Draco got him. 

Alternatively, when Harry was particularly pissed off at Draco, nothing bothered him more than when he found anything Draco said funny. Draco had a sharp sense of humor that was witty enough that it just related to Harry, though common enough that others got it. Students would laugh and Draco would smirk at how his popularity grew successively, his outward charm flexing itself quite desperately, while Harry rolled his eyes at the naiveté of Draco’s fans and focused on observing Draco, noticing the words that remained unspoken just behind his lips. The ones he kept back. The intelligence–Draco’s eyes would flick to him then, and Harry would quickly look away, not wanting to get caught staring. It was true though. Sometimes Harry would hold his gaze, and in Draco’s eyes he could see the acute opinion he’d held back from the gullible, less critical masses. Draco couldn’t keep it from Harry, though. As usual, they had the same thoughts. Harry knew exactly what Draco was truly thinking about the topics, all that he kept back politely in order to maintain the illusion of charm. Draco would see Harry and look away, his throat swallowing, as though unseated by what Harry knew of him.

Harry did know him, though. There was not much Harry could do about it. Sometime long ago, Harry had been born into this world knowing Draco inside and out, and that was how it was. It was as though they’d grown up as best friends by the way Harry could read him so transparently. When their eyes met, Harry knew exactly what Draco was feeling, going deeper and deeper until all that was left of Draco was incredible vulnerability, more intriguingly beautiful the further Harry went– and then Draco would rip his gaze away, his jaw working furiously, his skin a red toned blush of anger, covering his eyes with a glare that clearly showed Harry that Harry would never get to figure him out as long as Draco could help it. As though Harry didn’t already see him. As though he didn't find Draco particularly beautiful, as though Draco wouldn’t be safe with him. As if Harry didn’t _understand_ him, better than anyone else. One of these days, Harry would get to see Draco truly and completely, without that veneer of false enmity. He just knew it. He could only hope, though. Even as they fought, and argued, and even though Draco remained bent on coming after Harry. Even then.

Harry would find all his secrets someday.

There was that shadow of real enmity he knew they possessed, however. It was easy and yet difficult to separate. Malfoy’s parents were against Harry. And those views filtered down into Draco. Harry knew they’d likely be on opposite sides of a war, if war came. After last year, it was likely. And yet somehow, Harry had the feeling that if he ever needed actual support, Draco would be there right away, with his hand reaching down to help Harry back up.

All this was very confusing. Harry was constantly trying to understand their relationship, but he’d learned a long time ago not to ask questions. For now, he was content just riding this out, living in the moment, and hating Draco from afar, letting him hate Harry back. Draco’s attention was brilliant. Watching Harry from across a crowd of students grouped together by McGonagall for an announcement on updated castle rules, acting out dramatically in order to get Harry’s attention and infuriate him. It made Harry’s blood bubble, and sometimes it boiled over when Draco did something _particularly_ infuriating, after which Harry couldn’t help but react to get back at him, but there was something about their back and forth that just made Harry’s blood sing, satisfied his entire day, and simply pleased him so.

In that secret dark corner of his mind, that he never really thought about, Harry knew that he’d probably go crazy without Draco’s attention. There was something about the two of them that Harry couldn’t quite place. He didn’t see any other folks in his year ever having that single minded focus, that relationship with a strange sort of primal chemistry that he and Draco had. That special connection that he’d never encountered before. It didn’t feel like friendship… but it didn’t feel like enmity either. He just wasn’t sure what it was. There was simply some unnamed element to them, to _Draco_ for him, that he couldn’t pinpoint. Oh well. They were probably breaking ground on a new type of relationship he’d never even heard of, probably. Harry could live with being the only one, besides Draco, who could experience this amazing feeling of belonging with someone– without it being in a romantic context, of course. 

It wasn’t like that, obviously. Clearly. Harry hoped no one would ever compare them to it. That would just be crossing the line. Embarrassing. Crazy. Draco was his, surely, and sure, he might be Draco’s somehow (he hoped that Draco never found out how much power over Harry he possessed) but it was so far removed from romantic that it would be laughable to compare them to that. (It objectively sounded so similar though that Harry knew he could never ask Hermione or Ron about what it was or ask them how he felt. It would be humiliating if they suggested that and get convinced despite whatever Harry said. Them believing that would be worse than solving this puzzle.) Whatever it was, either way, Draco was still his. And he knew it. They both did.

 _He's mine,_ Harry reflected curiously, looking at Draco standing there, leaning in the hallway with his books in one arm, chatting with a slytherin. Even if Harry didn't want it to be true, he knew it was. Even as Harry tried not to feel possessive about it, he knew that they were each other’s somehow, some way that nobody _else_ could ever be for the other; he knew it as certainly as he knew of the blood that rushed through their veins. Surely enough, Draco’s eyes then slid down the hallway and found Harry. Draco’s gaze stopped for a moment, and that flicker of sparks shot up through the air, as it always did whenever they looked at each other, dark swirling against dark, and then Draco’s gaze quickly flicked back to his companion. Harry lifted his chin in the air and occupied himself with Hermione by his side as they walked to the third stairway. He could feel the tense air simmering in the air at his back as he passed Draco’s vicinity, though Harry didn’t look. He could always feel him, anyway. As soon as Draco’s gaze left Harry’s back, Harry felt the change in the air. The simmer was gone from the surrounding air, and yet the charge was still there, ever present whenever they were close to each other. 

Sometimes Harry wished he could just pull Draco to the wall and hash it out. Whatever this was, and perhaps a few shouts would be necessary, a real confession, an explanation, and then maybe a _proper_ full game in the air, with the wind back in their hair like the old days, and the laughter in the sky as they ground their teeth in their jaws to the aim of eviscerating each other, flying freely through the currents. Revisiting the beauty that, in a sense, connected them both. Because Harry had absolutely no idea what it was, this thing that drew him to Draco so urgently, and Draco to him, so naturally and compellingly, the way it had always been. It was just one of those things, Harry guessed.

Continuing with Hermione into Charms, he tried to keep from mulling further over Draco and this mystery of them. _Of us_ , he thought, with a conflicted twist to his mouth.

“Harry. Harry!” Hermione suddenly broke through Harry’s vision with a wave of her hand before his face. Harry started, and then stared at her in sheepish confusion. “Sorry, what was that?” he asked.

“You’ve been so out of it, Harry. What is it that’s taking so much of your mind? Is it a technical puzzle, because I’d love to solve it too. Let me in on it!” Hermione concluded excitedly, her brown curls bouncing against her bright brown skin. Harry looked at her with affection.

If only he could trust his friend with something this embarrassing. Some things just weren’t meant to be expressed though, Harry thought. “Thanks Hermione. Er… no, I was… just trying to remember what our assignment was. Is it due?” Harry asked Hermione doubtfully, his attention sufficiently distracted with the reminder that he had no idea what they were even doing in class.

Hermione’s immediate huff of air was expected. “Oh Harry! We’re working on the properties of every effectively realistic life transfiguration! First we start on the goal’s physical makeup, so that we can build on that…” As Hermione’s voice trailed off, Harry rooted on the word ‘goal’ and started thinking about Quidditch. He wondered if he could play this year. Last year he barely had any time because of the TriWizard Tournament. As class began, his mind was on a completely different trail.


End file.
